For a moment, nothing happened. The Uzbekistan representative was still talking, but now the words echoing through the chamber were nonsense: “Ghar thurka jallaci indum…” he intoned, then closed his mouth, looking puzzled. “Harek ilkad?” he said. Around the hall, representatives were tapping at their earphones, or taking them off to speak to the people around them. The uproar started softly, then grew into a roar. People were standing around the hall, gesticulating and shouting, as if sheer volume could accomplish understanding. At the podium, Jayewardene was hammering his gavel, the sound reverberating. Representatives began to leave the hall, still shouting nonsense.

There was nothing but chaos in front of Barbara. “I think it’s time for us to go now,” Barbara said to Ink, who was staring at the confusion with wide eyes.

“Bababadal—what, Mizz B?” Ink asked Barbara as they left the UN hall through one of the back exits. The sound of shouted gibberish still echoed in the hallways. “God, that makes me sound like them,” she added.

“Finnigan’s Wake,” Barbara answered. “It’s supposed to be the word God thundered out after the Fall of Man. At least that’s what my English professor back in Tel Aviv claimed. It seemed apropos, somehow.”

“And you memorized it?”

“It was college. You wouldn’t believe how many drinks I cadged being able to recite that.”

Ink nodded. “I guess,” she said. She inclined her head toward the continuing clamor. “Will that help, you think?”

“It’ll give us some hours at least, and gives Jayewardene an excuse to be slow reconvening the session. Maybe he can even hold them off until tomorrow. In the meantime, we can decide what we have to do.”

“You’ll get Klaus and the others back, Mizz B,” Ink said. “I know you will.”

Barbara managed a weary smile at that. “Thanks. I hope you’re right. Let’s get back to the office. We have a lot of work to do. I need you to get on the phone to the White House…”

The leaves of the shrubs and trees smacked her in the face. Creepers grabbed at her feet and tripped her. It didn’t matter. Michelle kept going. Every time she looked back, she could see Mummy behind her.

Occasionally, she’d let a bubble fly, but all it did was blow off a chunk of Mummy, which was then reabsorbed and made her larger. After a couple of futile bubbles, Michelle gave up and ran as fast as she could now that she’d lost a chunk of her weight. She was still fat, though.

Sweat, dank and smelling of fear, rolled off her. Her thighs chafed as she ran. Fuck, she thought, hating her fat for the first time. It was slowing her down.